


Belief

by Love_Letter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Santa Claus - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:09:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_Letter/pseuds/Love_Letter
Summary: While taking a walk down Oxford Street on Christmas Eve, Aziraphale and Crowley muse how the world hasn't changed one bit since its almost-end.Or so they think.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Belief

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small fic to throw this idea out of my head before it's too late to post it. Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and wishing each one of you a safe and healthy New Year!

Aziraphale did not need to look at the calendar to know the date. He could always tell when Christmas Eve had arrived. He could feel it, the energy of the holiday like an incoming tide, its largest wave cresting as dusk fell on the 24th. Sparks of belief seemed to prickle at his skin, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He was sure there was a religious element to it, on some level, but Crowley was the one to point out to him, sometime in the late 1940’s, “It’s definitely the kids. Nothing to do with Jesus. All about that fellow in the red suit.”

He probably had a point. 

Still, Aziraphale enjoyed it. Humans were at their best when looking forward to something, especially when that something was  _ giving _ . Yes, the commercialism was a bit much, but Aziraphale was a fan of the celebration. He’d seen it evolve, in the mysterious way it had, across centuries and various figures and with the same sentiment. 

“So glad it hasn’t changed,” he mused out loud, as he and Crowley made their way down the sidewalk, lit up by thousands of little white lights strung above their heads. Oxford Street was lacking its usual crowds, most people having gone home for the night eager to get out of the cold and into their warm beds. 

“What hasn’t?”

“Christmas. It feels exactly the same as last year, despite everything.”

“Course it does. You think an 11-year-old boy would reboot the world without Christmas?”

“He is —  _ was— _ the anti-Christ.”

“He was a kid before anything. Kids love Christmas. I’d be less concerned about Christmas vanishing and more concerned that Santa Claus might actually exist.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, turning to look at his companion. “Oh, you don’t think…”

“Nah,” said the demon dismissively. “Too old to believe in Saint Nick.”

“I did like Nicholas. Such a lovely fellow.” 

“Weird he put coins in shoes.”

Aziraphale ignored that comment. “Does it feel any different to you?”

“Same as it’s been the last couple centuries. Christmas got less fun for me since people stopped believing in the Krampus.” 

They stopped outside a small cafe and Crowley popped in to buy them hot chocolate while Aziraphale stood outside, looking up at the haze of the night sky. The pollution of the city lights hovered above him in low hanging clouds. He breathed in the fumes of buses, baked goods, and the unmistakable bite of frost in the air, sighing it all out again with a visible puff. Down the road, voices raised in a Christmas carol, half laughed and lyrics wrong. Aziraphale smiled, the feeling of the season washing over him.

“Here, angel.”

Crowley shoved a cup into his hands. It was warm, and without a lid, steam curled up, taking with it the mouthwatering scent of hot chocolate. He took a sip and moaned. “Thank you, my dear.”

The demon grunted, curling his fingers around his own cup and shuffling on to continue their walk. He didn’t drink it. Aziraphale suspected he only bought it to warm his hands, which were no doubt cold considering he’d refused to dress appropriately for the weather. 

They made their way down the street, critiquing the shop windows against decades past. 

“Pretty mediocre this year,” said Crowley when they’d reached the end of the festive displays. 

“I thought it was lovely.”

“You always do.” 

The regular lamp lights that lead back to the bookshop looked naked compared to their Oxford Street counterparts. Aziraphale watched his companion out of the corner of his eye. His aura was as peaceful and contented as a lamb’s, not that he would dare make the comparison out loud to Crowley’s face. The demon had a reputation to maintain. 

It was their first Christmas together, really together, with no underlying agitation or worried glances over their shoulders. They could simply exist, walking side-by-side, enjoying the winter city and their hot drinks. Maybe, if he was really lucky, there would be some snuggling up on the sofa by a miracled fireplace. 

As they approached the bookshop stoop, Aziraphale fished out his keys one-handed. He didn’t  _ need _ them, exactly, but he enjoyed the satisfaction of clicking the old, heavy lock. He’d just brought them out when there was the distinct sound of jingling bells. 

“That’s festive. You change out the usual bell?” 

“I haven’t even opened the door yet.”

The pair shared a look, glanced either way down the empty street, and simultaneously lifted their eyes to the sky. There was a break in the clouds. The moon was full (although the lunar calendar proved it should have been crescent) and through its light passed a silhouette recognized by millions around the world. 

A sleigh, pulled by a small herd of reindeer. 

“I thought you said he was too old to believe in Santa.”

“I stand corrected.”

The power of Belief continued to charge the air around them. Belief made anything possible. Aziraphale turned back and opened the door, deciding to make his own wish come true. “I think a fireplace has just appeared and we should have an evening in front of it.”

“Was that your miracle or Saint Nick’s?”

They would never really know, as Santa Claus had just touched down in Soho, and snow was beginning to fall. 


End file.
